


Resurgence

by glitchfemme (paragonparadigm)



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paragonparadigm/pseuds/glitchfemme
Summary: a guardian's tenuous relationship with the light. finding comfort in gunpowder and knives and a damn fine cloak. death has a way of mixing things up. crucible matches and tower politics. shitty vanguard details and the pressing darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> following chapters will be longer. this is just a thing I've been meaning to start for a really long time. enjoy!

The first lie the Vanguard ever feeds you is that the initial resurrection is the hardest. They fail to mention the confusion that spawns with you. The rush back to life with a scream still in your lungs; even if you can’t remember why. Fear and pain and the surety that just a breath before, everything was over. That that was all there could ever be. And then.

Light. Blistering. A rush of a thousand images you can’t hold onto. If you’re lucky you can just reach out and brush the memories. Usually all you bring back with you is a name. And if you grasp nothing. Well, at least some ghosts can be creative.

“Eyes up.”

You lose any sense of control you thought you held over your own fate. All there is to do in the rush is obey. Your blood is fueled with the need to fight. Muscles and nerves you might never have used before. Molding your body into a weapon of light. Somewhere along the way you’ll die again. Still clumsy from disuse. You’ll curse the wasted chance of another life.

And then.

The light. The stitching of flesh and bone and the painful lurch as your heart begins to beat once more. The pain is what the Vanguard touts as the worst of it. Anyone can accommodate pain after a time. Especially when your new body is meant to take it. When death is nothing but another teacher. When your body is built to come back swinging. No matter how hard the hit.

Therein lies the trouble. When it’s been decades and more. A century for some. When you’ve seen friends come and go. Whole wars waged and won and lost. Seeing the finality when a ghost falls first; the temptation that knowledge can bring with it.

Nobody talks about that. Certainly not the Vanguard.

Living becomes a challenge. How to face the day to day when you’re dead. Sounds like some terrible kind of pre-Golden joke. At least some of us are old enough to appreciate the nature of it. I certainly am. 

Some of us drown it all out in liquor and jokes. Others in the fuel of a constant fight. It becomes awful hard to worry about living when you’re always coming fresh out of a resurrection haze from whatever match you could talk Shaxx into letting you run that day. 

Seen more guardians lose themselves to the blood rush of killing one another than throwing themselves into the fight against “minions of the darkness” in the past few decades than anything else. There was a time I numbered among them.

There are times I still do.

It’s a nasty sport. Too many factions competing for quick glimmer on the backs of those that know how to die quickly and with the wrong armor equipped. But that’s city politics and not my style. Was only ever there for the kill. Didn’t matter who they represented. Blood was blood.

After awhile there was more to it. If I’m being totally honest. You can kill somebody only so many times before a bond is born. The kind that’s hard to shake. You’d never think that murder could give you something to live for. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We never trusted the Vanguard. The City. Maybe why that’s why they paired us. 

Or maybe it was because I grew tired of him ruining my favorite cloaks and Cayde thought it’d be a good laugh. In any case, (as with all things when you’re a guardian), it started with a death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn't used to losing.

Location: Bannerfall  
Time: 22:52  
Match Type: Clash

Wind out of the Southeast, adjusting for interference. Quick scope reveals two guardians skirmishing in a small corridor. Enemy combatant a warlock with a shotgun nearly at range against a friendly hunter. Single pull of the trigger and their shields drop, just enough of an advantage for a well-timed shot from the friendly to finish them off. Decent aim with a sidearm. Would have to remember that one.

Their quick grunt of thanks echoes through the team comm. I flash a small salute from my perch in response. Three shots left in the clip. Enough to do decent work if the warlock didn’t alert the rest of their team to my location upon resurrection. Provided they had spotted me at all.

A flashing bolt of crimson on my radar and a warning buzz from my ghost alert me that it’s almost too late. Can hear the scuff of boots on the dusty floor just beneath where I’ve hidden. The echo of a hand cannon being reloaded serves as another warning.

Two options remain. Roll back and drop down on the unlucky bastard and hope their reflexes aren’t as fast as my knife, or run. Running leaves me with at least one enemy guaranteed at my back and a possibility of five more when I rush into the open. 

Better to take the chance with the one now.

The blade I pull from the sheath near my boot is long and sharply serrated; the full curve of it nearly the length of my forearm. A long breath. Adjusting the grip. Radar is still lit from below, though my ghost remains silent. They’ve stopped. Listening now.

Too late to throw a trip mine and hope for the best. The small click as it armed would be make it a greater threat to me than them. Too easily avoided. Shouldn’t have left myself with so few exits and no promised explosions.

Titan.

The small rush of air as they jump gives it away. We just barely pass, close enough to touch if either of us had the thought. We’d moved at the same time. Momentary temptation to strike at the back of their knees where the armor is sure to be weakest. Crippling for the advantage. My own legs are unsteady beneath me. Unsure once more whether fight or flight is most prudent. 

Fight.

The need surges through my blood and makes the decision for me. I grin as my helmet compensates against the darkness of the room, lighting the titan around the edges. They stand nearly two heads taller than myself, clad almost entirely in black, an easy blend into the shadows. An Eyasluna held in steady hands as they aim down the sights.

Too fast.

First bullet is a warning shot. A show of superiority. My shoulder catches the blow; stings hardly more than the kick my rifle had given only a few moments before. The next shot snags the edges of my cloak, grazing my helmet as it goes. A low growl of frustration echoes in the dead air. I hardly recognize it as my own.

This blade wasn’t meant for throwing but I do it anyways. A last ditch effort. Hard to compensate against the weight and the hit I’d just taken. It flips solidly end over end before embedding itself in the meat of the titan’s upper thigh. 

Not the best but it would do.

They falter backwards. Pressed against the wall of the upper level; the Concordat’s faded banner painted just over their shoulder. Old bloodstains not so far away. The next few shots they fire are wild and easily dodged, enough time to tug my trust Mida from where it locked into the armor at my back.

Two shots fired on a hair trigger.

Fresh blood sprays the walls.

Their ghost hovers for a moment as I approach. It remains silent. Wasn’t about to leave my favorite blade to spawn back with an enemy after all. Foolish.

Something tumbles from his lifeless grip. Too late to register. Too late to run.

Lightning grenade.

The resurrection is fast. Under twenty seconds back to the most recent coordinates my team had reported as secure. My muscles would twitch for the following five minutes as my body adjusted to the aftershocks of death by electrocution.

Probably one of my least favorite ways to go.

Ghost only scolds for a moment as I turn to follow the fast tap-tap of pulse rifles being fired a few rooms over. The smell of burnt flesh still fills my nostrils, urging me onwards towards retribution for my shameful death. 

I wanted my blade back.

A quick scan of the area shows it clear of the titan, though I mark the remains of the friendly hunter from earlier. Their own luck hadn’t held.

Twenty minutes and another ten kills pass and I still had yet to encounter the titan again. Nearly a phantom. The match was close to tied and rapidly coming to a close. Shaxx’s voice came clearly through the open comm. Had just enough energy for a Golden Gun. It was just getting too damn hard to take this team by surprise. They’d been shutting down supers left and right.

One minute to go.

I swallow and let the Light gather. Following up from my center and through my arms to make the weapon I so desired. Ten meters ahead I spot a skirmish. The ripples of a Fist of Havoc still crackling along the ground. Black armor dimly light by the electricity of it.

The titan was flanked by a pair of warlocks. I recognized the one from earlier and take them first. The other quickly follows, disintegrating into solar dust. One charge left. Twenty-five seconds to go.

Too fast.

Staring down the barrel of an unfamiliar rifle. My shot goes wide in surprise. 

Theirs doesn’t.

Match point.

Resurrected back to the hangar. The teams mingled freely now. Congratulating on well-earned kills and joking easily over more embarrassing deaths. Comparing notes for next time. Fairly standard exchange. Never cared for it. My neck was still aching from the force with which my head had been removed from it  
.  
Nearly twenty paces off was that damned titan. Their helmet was off now. Cradled casually in the crook of their elbow. He flashes a quick grin and waves me over. If I didn’t go my ghost would scold me for a week. So I go. Cursing to myself with each step.

“Nice try Hunter. Maybe next time.” His voice was deep, a laugh clearly not far from his lips. Not hard when fresh off a win. Never mind landing the final blow. In his still gloved fist he holds my knife out, handle first.

Momentary urge to shove the blade back into his ribs. It was bitter and childish and not entirely uncommon. Grudges were expected in the Crucible. And while they weren’t endorsed, they weren’t exactly punished either. Especially not when bets could be made later off long held vendettas.

“Keep it.” The answer was raspy. My throat too dry with a fair mix of barely contained frustration and dehydration. “I’ll take it back the next time I kill you.” His small laugh of bemused surprise echoed through my still aching skull.

Ghost groaned in his own show of agitation. Fluttering behind to make apologies as I stalked towards my ship. He was always apologizing for me. The wind that threw my cloak over my shoulders was bitter cold as I went.

Made two of us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunters don't say "thank you"

It was nearly three months until I next entered the Crucible. Hive excursions into long secured parts of the Cosmodrone would do that. Harassment tactics mostly, though to what ends it was hard to tell. 

Even Eris shrugged when asked. She had had other things to worry about for a change, some of the secret business with Ikora. The Hive had been leaderless for more than half a year and were testing what they could get away with most likely. Left me trudging through the mud and muck with a chatty warlock who did not live up to her name.

Whisper. 

She was an Awoken, and if the rumors were to be believed, a rather old one at that. Like nigh onto the Collapse old. Our ghosts got on well enough at the least. I let them plan the specifics of our patrols. 

When to shoot and when to study. Would much rather it all be the former. Eris would have too. Too bad they never let me out with her anymore. Something about bad influences. 

Who they thought was the instigator was beyond the measure of my scope. I simply missed the only guardian I cared to consider a friend. It was also a small spiteful pleasure that she made my ghost uncomfortable. It always hid in my pack when she was around in any case. Leaving us in blissful silence for a change. 

Unlike Whisper.

We'd been hidden in a small abandoned outpost for several hours, a small scouting mission to get numbers and suggestions as to enemy movements, and she hadn't stopped recounting the wonders of hive biology. Their mating habits and growth cycles. She was especially fascinated by their Wizards. Big surprise there. 

She'd been there to help take out Omnigul. In a fight she was handy at least. Most Voidwalkers were. She made an art of it though. It'd almost make her likeable if she could just endure silence for more than five minutes at a time. 

For months after she'd been on about what the Vanguard could find out by studying Omnigul's remains. How the worms they consumed and worshipped effected their physiology or somewhat like that. All gripping stuff apparently. 

I'd made a point to tell her unless she came up with fun new exciting ways to kill them I couldn't care one way or another. She muttered something about hunters all being shallow and simple minded at that. I'd laughed and she balked at the sound. 

Gave me a few good hours of peace at the least. 

It was only when Zavala ordered a cleanup of all Hive within a two mile radius, ( a hard enough hit to get them to pull back into the caves they'd made their own a long while back ), that I began to have fun. Whisper had a harder time talking my damned ears off when shooting was involved after all. 

If there wasn't a time I didn't take comfort in watching acolytes and thrall and knights alike crumble through my scope I couldn't remember it. Like most of my time before. This had to be easier than asking questions that twisted my gut and made my skull ache. As if it wasn't to be allowed. By myself or the Light that burned through dead veins there was no telling. 

Was easier to forget anyways. 

Run. Duck. Plant mines. Snipe. Run. Never let a thrall get close enough to wrap hands around your throat. It hurt to get ripped to shreds. A lot. Save the golden gun for any high ranking combatants. Watch your ghost. 

So much easier this way. 

Killing things instead of other guardians for a change. There was no satisfaction when you could see them only a few moments later. Alive and well. Shooting back.

Laughing when you made a mistake. 

Momentary fury. Fresh and burning deep in my gut. My hands stall as I go to reload. Out of cover with my shields down from a knight that volleyed arc from a ridge a good thirty meters to the north. The range of those bastards was ridiculous. 

Bloodhaze. 

Fresh pain, different as I'm hit from behind and to the right. Whisper. She'd lept from her own safe perch and rolled me to the ground. Covered in fresh grass stains and more than a couple bruises. Better than having to resurrect further afield and leave her unguarded as I tried to recoup. We'd have lost ground. 

She hit like a ton of bricks for such a tiny thing. 

Blame it on the sheer amount of trinkets she hid in the many pockets of her robes. Warlock habits that most share, or so I've been lead to believe. No time to really wonder. Rolled to my stomach, adjusted my rifle and fired a single shot towards where I'd last spotted the knight. 

Wish I could have heard its scream before the bullet ripped through what counted as a throat. 

"You're welcome you know." She was clearly breathless, though there was a hint of humor in her tone. She'd never let me live this one down. Hadn't the last time she'd pulled my ass out of the frying pan either. That was different though. In Oryx's realm where there was no chance for resurrection when you weren't a Sunsinger. 

Nevermind that I would have welcomed the finality of it. I grunted something that amounted merely to an acknowledgement of her assistance. She sighed before returning to the task at hand. Rushing a crowd of thralls advancing at what amounted to a rapid pace with a sidearm that I had mocked no few times for the small sounds it made when fired. Like a child's toy. 

I picked off a thrall that nearly pulled her down by the silver hair that had escaped the scarf that bound it back. Thanks enough for her. 

Reload. Fire. Repeat. 

I needed to forget. Just awhile longer. That fury that had filled my gut had made me clumsy. Again. Would have to do something about that.


End file.
